


Off the Road

by littlecloud



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Could Be Canon, Episode 2x04, Gen, Missing Scene, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecloud/pseuds/littlecloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eye contact became their personal form of thanks, the two's so blue in color that sometimes a single look hit like waves crashing into each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gizzi1213](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gizzi1213/gifts).



"So, are you a lesbian?"   
  
The carriage ride to Willoughby had been fairly silent so far, would have been uneventful if not for a husk of bandits they had to slit the throats of. Charlie was taken aback by Monroe's question; she shot him a dirty look he would not see. His eyes were entirely on the road, and the most he could communicate facially came from a clench of his jaw, nods, subtle changes in his profile. From that angle, Charlie was merely a flesh colored shadow to his left. It added another level of emotionlessness that already existed between their sparse conversations.  
  
"Why does that matter?" To her displeasure, she sounded more curious than angry.   
  
He shrugged, whipping the reigns in doing so. "Just looking for something to talk about."  
  
That got a laugh out of her, "Thought we could talk about hot girls or something? I hate to disappoint, but I am straight. Not that there is much time or necessity for relationships these days."  
  
Monroe stayed quiet. Their journey became boring again, though the horses picked up a speed Charlie did not realize they were capable of, and the miles separating her from family grew less and less. After a while, when the sky had reached its pre-evening lavender, he decided to stop for the night.   
  
They had made a habit for each supper; he started the fire, she scavenged for something to eat. Every other night, she slept with a blanket found in the caravan. A couple times during Monroe’s turn, on the other nights, she had woken up curled under the blanket anyway. Neither spoke of it. Generosity was more and more common between them, but never got acknowledged aloud.    
  
Eye contact became their personal form of thanks, the two's so blue in color that sometimes a single look hit like waves crashing into each other. Certain escapades benefited from this, especially in villages where they had to plan their travel story noiselessly – usually resulting in lies of marriage or kinship. Once, Monroe even reached out to hold Charlie's hand in the center of some town. He found her – and in some fashion, his – militia brand on her wrist that day. The arches were still plasma red, as if infected. She met his hard gaze of confusion, appearing almost disappointed at the discovery and outwardly angry for just a flash of a second. Their hands separated quickly, the backs touching once more in their intimate stride through a marketplace.   
  
Charlie remembered that instance after Monroe's dumb question of her sexuality. If he felt comfortable feigning romantic relationships when he believed her to be gay.   
  
In the calm of her fern-built sleeping bag, she sighed. The hunt had been unsuccessful, and they decided to go to bed frustrated with each other about it. Embarrassingly, her stomach growled before she could be confident Monroe was unaware. A few feet away, she heard a soft, "Charlie?"  
  
"What?" Her voice was hoarse from disuse and dehydration.  
  
"Are you awake?" As he spoke, Monroe rolled over to face her. They held the stare of the opposite's open eyes – the only hue saturated enough to be visible in the dead forest. She did not need to respond. He continued, "Hey."  
  
She smiled, slightly amused. "Hi. I am trying to sleep."  
  
"I know. I just...don't let this world change you, Charlie. You don't need to be evil to survive. You don't have to sacrifice happiness, and. And love. Just because of the Blackout."  
  
He moved a piece of hair, nearly a curl, away from his face. It bounced back into the same position, falling from the side of his body that was up.  
  
"I don't remember much from before," she admitted. "It is no big loss if I never fall in love or if I am constantly miserable until I get killed in some otherwise significant fight. Everyone I love leaves me anyway. It is for the best." She sounded like she had believed this for a while.   
  
"I used to kill everyone I cared for if I thought they would leave me." Monroe seemed to be talking to himself, words directed towards the moon rather than Charlie for the first time. His fingers folded together on his chest. When he looked back down at her, she raised one of her eyebrows. Disturbed, but also understanding. He added, "I don't want to hurt you."  
  
"You keep saying that."  
  
"For a reason."  
  
Charlie yawned into her hand, wrinkling her nose. “Hmm. Well. Wake me up when you know what that reason is.”   
  



End file.
